


Nightmare in Red

by knightinmourning



Series: Ineffable Husbands Bingo Fills [7]
Category: Good Omens
Genre: Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Drinking, Fire, M/M, Murder, Presumed Dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 03:48:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20885627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightinmourning/pseuds/knightinmourning
Summary: It was his worst nightmare, all over again.The bookshop was burning, and Aziraphale was nowhere to be found.





	Nightmare in Red

**Author's Note:**

> For the Ineffable Husbands Bingo square "Failure to Save."

It was his worst possible nightmare, all over again.

The bookshop was burning. Just like before. When Crowley had seen the news, he could hardly believe what he was seeing, suddenly finding himself smelling smoke and hearing the roar of the flames all over again.

The seconds from the flat to the Bentley, and the minutes from there to the bookshop, were too long, even as fast as Crowley was going.  _ Aziraphale would hate this. He’d tell me to slow down. To not risk discorporating myself. _

_ I don’t even know if he’s still alive _ .

He didn’t know anything. Didn’t know who had set the fire. If it was hellfire or just regular, Earthen fire. If Aziraphale had been home when it happened.

The Bentley skidded to a stop, and just like last time, he pushed through the familiar doors to his own special Hell, ignoring the first responders attempting to stop him and freezing them with a glance. Looking around, he found himself surrounded only by flames. No angel in sight.

“Aziraphale!” He called. “Aziraphale! Angel! Where are you?”

No response.

_ Not again. We won. We have our own side now. We can’t-  _ I  _ can’t- _

This was not a fire forged in Hell, Crowley could tell as he found himself -  _ just like last time  _ \- collapsed on the floor. It had been a few minutes, and he was struggling to breathe. Except he didn’t need to breathe. He needed to stop breathing. He stopped.

This was a problem, regardless of his protection from smoke inhalation, because while hellfire wouldn’t hurt him, regular fire could discorporate him. Could discorporate Aziraphale. Where  _ was  _ the angel, anyway?

Hands were on him, wrapped in thick gloves and accompanied by the sound of heavy boots. Firefighters, trying to get him off the floor. But what was the point? If Aziraphale was gone, was really gone, if Crowley had once again failed to protect him? He was too distracted by his thoughts to fight the hands gripping him and pulling him up, but he didn’t help them in their mission at all, going limp as they manipulated him. He needed to get away.

Find out what happened and who was responsible, and make sure they paid for their mistake.

An oxygen mask was pressed to his face.

He didn’t breathe.

Pulling it off and ignoring the paramedic’s cry of protest, he stalked away.

He had a job to do.

***

Their names didn’t matter. Their lives didn’t either. He didn’t care if they had spouses or kids, or anyone else who cared about them. It had been a week, which meant that they had lived a week longer than they deserved.

Crowley had an easy enough time getting their information from the police. Their security features were subpar at best, and with a little demonic influence, Crowley could talk pretty much anyone into anything, anyway. He’d found the file with little trouble, taking from it the names of two men clad in dark suits who had been seen near the shop with suspicious materials.

That was enough for him. If they’d wanted a fair trial and a just sentence, they shouldn’t have killed Aziraphale.

Because that was, as far as Crowley was concerned, exactly what they had done. If the angel hadn’t died - shouldn’t have died - in the fire, then he must have discorporated. Which meant he was now stuck in Heaven, with no way to contact Crowley, as long as they weren’t willing to let him go or give him a new body.

Assuming Gabriel didn’t just decide to try the hellfire again, just for shits and giggles.

He didn’t speak to them, didn’t let them see him. Didn’t give them the benefit of knowing their deaths were fast approaching, and that they would be doomed to an eternity of suffering in Hell for their crimes.

Crowley was a demon, and he wasn’t good, but he wasn’t heartless, either. He made sure that everyone else in the two houses were safe that night. They would awake in the morning to the pungent scent of burned flesh and hair, and find the two men in their respective basements, burned to death in the night. The police would rule them suicides, because that was how Crowley intended it.

He never set foot inside. Never saw their bodies. Couldn’t stand the thought.

The bookshop was burned beyond recognition, and it would never recover.

Aziraphale was gone.

He needed a drink.

***

Days blurred into weeks blurred into months. It was hard to tell how long, exactly, as Crowley alternated drinking and sleeping, not bothering to drag himself out of his flat. He had no reason to. No temptations, no orders. No angel.

Killing those men hadn’t done much of anything. It hadn’t brought Aziraphale back, and it certainly hadn’t made Crowley feel better. He’d made the mistake of catching a glimpse of their families, and now he couldn’t stop thinking of those poor kids who would grow up without their dads. If Aziraphale was here, he’d be cross with Crowley, maybe even angry enough to leave him again.

It hurt to think, but he knew it was all he deserved at this point. Sleep plagued with nightmares and waking hours too drunk to function, Crowley stayed in his flat and let himself wallow.

***

One day, the phone rang.

And then again.

And again.

Probably the  _ blessed _ telemarketers, because Crowley hadn’t thought to keep himself off their lists when he created them.

Eventually, the calls stopped. After weeks, he supposed. Maybe months. It was difficult to tell. He didn’t care.

The calls stopped.

***

_ Knock Knock Knock _ .

The pounding on the door resonated through Crowley’s head as a pounding force as he drifted vaguely towards consciousness. “Shut up!” He shouted, voice hoarse, and then winced at his own volume.

All he deserved.

The knocking stopped at least, and Crowley considered whether he should drink off his hangover, or sleep through it.

The sound of a door opening and then closing answered the question for him, and he groaned as he pulled himself to a seat and then poured himself into a position that roughly resembled standing. He stumbled towards his living room to see who had dared to pick the lock on his door. “What part of “shut up” makes you think-”

Blonde curls.

Cream suit.

Tartan tie.

“ _ Aziraphale _ .”

This couldn’t be real. He had to be a- Crowley wasn’t sure, a ghost, or a hallucination, or some sort of horrible hell-spectre cooked up by Hastur. It had been  _ forever _ . Crowley hovered by the doorway, his mouth open and eyes wide, frozen as he tried to understand the sight in front of him. Barely thinking about it, he forced himself to sober up, wondering if perhaps the alcohol had finally gotten to his head. Aziraphale was still there, standing in front of him. Plain as day.

“Hello, my dear. I’m so sorry it took me so long to return to you. Gabriel had a fit at my requisition for a new corporation, so it took far longer than I intended.”

“Your shop-”

“I know, Crowley. I’ve been there. Tried calling you, after. You didn’t pick up.”

“I thought you were a telemarketer.” He wasn’t crying. Those weren’t tears running down his cheeks. “I thought they took you away from me. I thought you were dead.”

“Oh, my dear boy. I’m so very sorry. I’m here now, and I’ve no intention of leaving again.” Aziraphale finally moved, breaking the still-unbelievable picture in front of Crowley, and crossing the room to stand in front of the demon. Hands wrapped around his upper arms, and Crowley couldn’t help but remember gloved hands, smoke, flames…

He flinched and pulled away, Aziraphale dropping his hands in surprise.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry. I went to the shop as soon as I could, but the fire- it was just like before and you were gone. Angel,  _ you were gone. _ ” It wasn’t meant to be an accusation, but Crowley was reaching for his angel and grasping at the fabric of his jacket. Desperate for Aziraphale to understand.

_ He’s real. I can feel him under my fingers. Not a spectre, not a hallucination. Just  _ him.

“Shhh. I understand. You tried your best. That’s all anyone could ask for.”

“No, you don’t understand. I- well, if you knew, you’d hate me. I did horrible things, angel. For no reason but revenge. Spite.”

Aziraphale had somehow maneuvered them so they were sitting together on Crowley’s couch, with Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around Crowley’s body.

“What is it? What happened?”

“I killed the men that burned the bookshop. Who discorporated you. They burned.” 

The pause that rang out after his admission was broken by a strangled noise that erupted from Crowley as he attempted to pull himself away. He understood what that silence meant. He knew when he’d fucked up beyond repair.

The arms around him didn’t restrain him. He could have gotten up if he’d really wanted it, but at their gentle squeeze, he stayed. He made a quiet, questioning sound, not understanding what was going on. Aziraphale ran one of his hands along Crowley’s arm, soothing and light, before he spoke again.

“We’re going to need to talk about this in more depth in the future, my dear, but I don’t think either of us are in a state right now to have that conversation. Is that okay with you?”

“You… aren’t disgusted?”

“I’m concerned for you. But not disgusted, no.”

“...Okay. Yeah, sure. Later.”

_ Later _ meant that they would see each other again, after this. After right now. There was a future for them. The two of them. Together.

“You seem quite tired, my dear. Why don’t we get some rest, and speak more in the morning?”

“We?”

“If you’ll have me, of course.”

“Yes! Of course. Absolutely. Don’t be silly, angel. You don’t have to ask.” Crowley bounced up, feeling a little lighter at the prospect of spending the night with Aziraphale, and led the way to the bedroom.

They both laid down on the bed, Aziraphale miracling both of their clothes into comfortable sleepwear. Settling together, they positioned themselves back to back so they could still feel the other person. For the first time in  _ Someone _ knew how long, Crowley drifted off to sleep quickly without the aid of alcohol.

Aziraphale was back, and he was safe now. Everything wasn’t perfect, and it would be a long time before things were back to some kind of normal, but Crowley had already gotten everything he could possibly have dreamed of. Soft snores behind him comforted him as he drifted off.

It would be some time before the nightmares of the fires stopped, but now, at least, he had his angel with him to help keep them at bay.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated :)
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [knightinmourning42](http://knightinmourning42.tumblr.com)


End file.
